


Blind To You

by Gluub



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom John Watson, Growing Up Together, M/M, Mild Smut, Old School, Sub John Watson, Teen Angst, Teen Sherlock, idk they just young
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-08 20:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gluub/pseuds/Gluub
Summary: John and Sherlock are two very different people with very different lives, Sherlock struggles with being the outcast and has to face rumors that are complete horseshit. It is hard for both of them. John, keeping his struggles hidden from his social life but Sherlock notices, observes John and understands his ‘disability’ of not seeing color like how others do. Sherlock, being himself, talks to John without really talking to him. Almost confronting but...not quite. In a fashion that intrigues John, confuses him, he decides that he wants to see the hidden path Sherlock follows. Takes place Junior year of 1993.





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> A lot is what I think John’s family is like since there isn’t a lot of info about them, same for Jim but he doesn’t come till later ;D

John wakes up breathing heavily, as if he were trying to escape from something, running for miles and in need of air. His forehead lined with sweat as he snaps open his eyes and tries to readjust to his surroundings. Looking around his room quickly as he sits up and rubs a hand over his face, the remains of his nightmare already faded away from his mind as he sits there, alone in the dark. The dark doesn’t scare him since that is the color he knows best. Black, slightly darker black, grey, and...lighter grey? He doesn’t know or really care. He grabs his alarm clock roughly and pulls it close to his face to see the time.

Waking up at six in the morning wasn’t his weekend plan but he can’t really find it in himself to just go back to sleep. Instead he gets out of his bed, hearing it creak as the weight from his body is lifted off of it, the shuffling of his feet against the carpeting the only sound in his house besides the constant hum. He heads into the bathroom, the only thing lighting it up is the thin rays of sun shining in through the window, he stares at himself in the mirror, quickly looking away and out the door before he finally decides that he should lock it for privacy. 

He stands there, just staring, studying himself before he closes his eyes tightly, hearing himself swallowing as he shifts on his feet and lowers his head. Thinking really hard, extra hard, wanting to see if he can make some gears turn in his head. To make something click, explode, piece together, fix itself, do SOMETHING. Anything. He lifts his head up to face the mirror without opening his eyes, he’s played this game with himself so many times before that he knew what the result was going to be. Yet, he still refused to believe that he would being seeing a bleak world. Denied the fact that he didn’t know the difference between a red or black shirt, a purple wall to a brown wall. He would deny and deny, and he will continue to do so.

He hopes that someday, maybe tomorrow, that this film over his ‘true’ vision will peel away and reveal the world he has missed out on. He slowly, very hesitantly, opens his eyes and looks himself over again and again before he accepts that there hasn’t been any change. This game that he plays isn’t fun, completely opposite of that, it hurts him, wringes him dry of a good morning and leaves him bitter. It’s going to be one of those days now. 

He heads back into his room to get dressed, needing some fresh air to cleanse his system. Slipping on some worn out jeans and striped brown wool jumper, he wasn’t really into fashion, probably because he was worried about matching wrong and looking like an idiot to everybody. And he definitely didn’t want to ask family for help just so he could look ‘cool’, stomping on his dirty red chucks. 

Quietly he walked passed his sisters room, the door still covered in bits of Lisa Frank stickers that they’ve been trying to peel off for years. He walks down the stairs quickly to avoid the creaking noise that echoes around the house. He puts on his dark sunglasses and walks out, locking the door behind him, he takes in a deep breath. Realizing how cold it was becoming out now that they were getting closer to winter, but knows he can’t go back and forth to the house just to get a jacket.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as they were already getting cold, the wind blowing hard against his face sending shivers down his spine but he walked on. Just needing to wander for a bit before going back home to nagging, he just wanted to walk without thinking, he knew once his parents woke up they’d be furious with him leaving and not asking for permission first.

In his defense, he was old enough to go out on his old. Besides, they act like he is going to go off to some other land or be miles away from home, he is turning seventeen in July. He’ll be the only guy in high school that can’t be more than ten miles away from home, that still has to go to bed at a very specific time. He kicks a pebble just thinking about it and it ends up cracking the pot of a plant sitting outside of a flower shop, a lady comes out angrily and looks over the pot.

John stands just a few feet away and debates on just running away or face the scolding, before he has time on choosing, she is walking over to him with the pot in her hand. “Boy! Do you have any idea how expensive my pots are?” She asks him and he shifts on his feet, people are beginning to look over at him, a few laughing as they pass by and he feels the embarrassment growing.

“N-No ma’am, I am very sorry...I wasn’t paying attention.” He mutters back in response and he can tell that his weak apology only made her fume, “Well that was bloody obvious! You are going to have to pay for the damage here.” She huffs and John immediately stiffens, “I don’t have any money on me.” And as if she hasn’t embarrassed him enough she continues on, John just stands there and takes it until someone from behind him comes in.

“It’s a fake.”

“Excuse me but my Chinese porcelain vases are not fake, they are antiques. This pot right here is an Italian ceramic, I put fake flowers in it to make them look prettier. I sell expensive antiques and the best flowers.” She huffs proudly. John turns to see the guy as she speaks and he seems a bit intimidating in a way, it kind of...Pisses him off. How he doesn’t seem flawed in anyway and he is sticking up for him, the embarrassment he feels only heats up into slight anger.

“Yes, well I am sure you wouldn't be able to tell seeing that you have no experience in caring for antiques such as these let alone tell a fake one from a real one.” He says quickly as he graves it from her hand and looks it over with a heavy sigh, “Italian ceramics are always hand painted, you will be able to see the single stokes that contribute to the beauty and artistry of this piece. But the brush strokes are not visible, the bottom unglazed area is not rough like it should be.”

Now she is left to be the one embarrassed, “I am not taking advice from a kid like you!” She shouts at him and takes the vase out of his hand as she storms off, smoke should be coming out of her ears like in cartoons John thinks to himself as he stands there speechless.

The guy lets out a heavy sigh which startles John when he looks back, “If the bottom were white and smooth then it's not an original Italian ceramic, made with traditional materials and techniques. I am guessing that she is aware that they are fakes but she is just too stubborn to admit it to us.” He hums and John just stares at him, “Incredible.” He comments after a while of just staring and It’s the guys turn to be slightly startled, John cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, “I mean...I couldn’t even tell they were fakes, that was fascinating to listen to. But, I didn’t need your help.” He said, irritation obvious in his voice, their eyes meeting. 

“Well, I should have just let you pay the hundred dollars of repair that she would’ve wanted out of it. But then again, you don’t have any money so you, it would of came out of your parents wallet then.” He responded back and he looked away from John, “It might start snowing a bit today, if you were are planning to stay out long.” He said changing the subject as he stared at the clouds, the wind starting up again.

“I might say, those colorful vases almost fooled me too, they seemed pretty intricate. Don’t you think?” John hesitated as he nodded his head, he needed to get out of the conversation before it started up again. What he was trying to get away from, it was nagging at him again and he clenched his jaw, “I better get going.” He sighed out quickly and adjusted his sunglasses as he was getting ready to walk away, “You know, the sun isn’t out enough for you to be wearing sunglasses.” He called out to John as he began to walk, “Why are you always wearing them?” He asked and John’s eyes widened, not turning around as he felt like his heart stopped, like everything around him was going to stop with him and stare at him, he could feel the whole world's eyes on him.

“How do you know as always wear them? Just…I like wearing them, it’s not like it’s hurting anybody anyways.” He said back without turning around, “I see...Well, then there is no need for you to be so nervous about it. I go to your school, we don’t have any classes together, but you’re on the rugby team.” His voice was growing fainter to John and he turned back around to see that he was walking away, “What is your name anyway?” He just wanted to shake the uneasiness he felt, “If I see you around again.”

“It’s Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, and I doubt that you’ll see me around. I’m rarely ever there to begin with.” Sherlock sighed and continued walking while John stayed where he was, everything about Sherlock seemed strange, even his name...He hadn’t really heard anyone with a name like that before, he was different and that made John want to chase after him.

John wanted to follow, to hear more about what he knew and what he thought. Although, he seemed a bit cold, no real emotion in his face the entire time they spoke and the way he handled the situation was like he didn’t care about what the elderly lady had to say. The way he held himself with certainty and confidence, maybe that is why John was interested.

What would’ve happened if he told him? He thought for a mere second before he continued on his way, since they went to the same school. He might spread the word, his chances of feeling normal at school would’ve been ruined since his parents had never really informed the school about it. He was old enough to do it himself, he had told them when he attended high school. But, really he didn’t. He didn’t want to be seen differently, the way they made fun of kids with ‘problems’ seemed too much for him.

He shivered again as he headed down the sidewalk back home, two hours outside without a coat was long enough, he could already feel his nose begin to drip as he walked inside with a sniffle and pressed his hands against his frozen cheeks. His father standing right next to the stairs to greet him with a stern stare and furrowed eyebrows, John standing there to look back at him without saying a word.

John straightens himself up to look more confident in himself as he felt himself grow nervous, taking off his sunglasses and couldn’t exactly meet his father's eyes. He took them off since the hallway lights weren’t on yet, the light from the window was enough and his mother along with his sister were still asleep since it was early.

His father finally broke the silent, “What were you doing at this time?” He gestured toward the outdoors with his head, “Is this...Going to be a frequent thing?” He looked genuinely disappointed in John, for some reason, he was upset about him going out.

“Dad, I’m old enough to go out now, I don’t need your eyes on me every hour of the day.” He rubbed his hands together and sniffled, his eyes finally wandered to his father’s and he lost his confidence immediately, “I’m sorry, I just...I need to get fresh air, okay.” He slowly walked past his father and headed up the stairs.

“Were you with a girl? Is that it?” His hand tightened on the railing as he felt his face redden and this time it wasn’t because he was cold, he shook his head, “N-No! God…Dad, I just wanted to go out for a little bit.” He said as he headed up the stairs quicker, the steps creaking as he really put his weight into it. Leaving his father to stand there alone as he went into his room and shut the door behind him.

He let out a heavy sigh as he let the tension leave his body and he rubbed his face out of exhaustion, sniffling a few more times. He felt himself getting a cold, he really should’ve worn a coat, he crawled under the covers and began to think about earlier.

Sherlock, he wasn’t lying about going to the same school, he’s felt that he had seen him around before, always alone. He didn’t know what he thought of him, he was different, he knew that. But, he didn’t know what really pulled him in, he never really met anyone like him before. He felt his gut twist just thinking about it and sat back up, already needing some fresh air, his heart raced slightly. He didn’t want to think anymore about it, about him.

John paced around his room and looked out the window a few times, his mother came into his room after a while and watched him as she stood in the doorway. “I can hear you moving around downstairs.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, John stopped abruptly and tried to conjure up an excuse before she went on.

John shot out a quick apology and his mother sighed out heavily, “Well, breakfast is ready if you’re hungry, and wash up. Your hair is a complete mess.” She said as she walked off and he went back to look at himself in the mirror, now noticing all the cowlicks he had plus the wind from when he was out. He felt his face flush with complete embarrassment as he tried to flatten it, Sherlock and that lady saw him like this? He couldn’t imagine showing his face out there again after he went out looking like this.

Immediately thinking about how Sherlock must’ve viewed him, he snapped out of it, his mind was wandering back to him too much. Perhaps it was because of how nervous he was about Sherlock knowing what he had, that must’ve been it. The only logical reason for his mind to wander to him so much, that had to be what was bothering him.

He felt a sudden rush of tiredness flow over him like a weighted blanket, as if someone were telling him to just sleep it off and quite honestly he thought it to be the best idea. To just sleep the weekend away; consequently, that would lead to getting yelled at for sleeping too long and constantly having to wake up to eat and do chores.

But, right now he just wanted time off from whatever this was. He headed downstairs with his feet now made of stone; body feeling heavier and he slumped in his chair as he let out a heavy sigh. His family looking him over without really saying anything or commenting on his behavior. They put a plate in front of him and let him eat at his own pace before he headed back up the stairs and straight to bed.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, he let his mind wander a bit longer and it all suddenly took a sharp turn. Heading back the same jaded and dark path it has gone down many times before; therefore, he ignored it. Pushed away all the thoughts as he let his heavy eyelids close, letting the last of his heaviness to escape his mouth and allow him to sink into a deep sleep. Too exhausted to think, to move. Living a double life just added to his stress and exhaustion, he never talks about it because there is nothing to really talk about.


	2. Follow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be creating a playlist for this fic on Spotify ;P comment if you’d like to know about it!

John’s weekend was long and tiresome, he had the brief thought of wanting to go to school but realized that it would bring him more troubles. Instead he did the usual wa define around the house and laid around till Monday. Not realizing he fell asleep until his god awful alarm clock went off and he woke up slowly. Not opening his eyes until he sat up in bed fully and stumbled onto the floor.

He groaned as he stretched and looked out the window and saw he woke up before the sun got a chance to, or at least what he thought it would look like. He taught himself to read the shades of outside, even if he wasn’t really accurate, it allowed his conscious to feel more...Normal.

He did his normal routine, his sister commenting the usual, “You’re such an old man.” She’d say as she walked past and headed out while John was left to grumble as he shuffled his way to his room. Holding onto the towel around his waist so it wouldn’t slip. He pulled on a white shirt with tartan flannel and stonewashed jeans, a pair of socks he had probably already worn a few days ago with his chucks.

He was into a lot of styles lately, still wanting to see what he looked best in but right now he was hating sweaters since they weren’t really ‘in’ amongst his peers. He sat there staring down at his feet before looking at his bedside table that held his alarm clock and sunglasses. He bit his lip as he stared at them and grabbed them forcefully as he put them on with his eyebrows knitted together. It was a part of the routine he hated.

John finally got up and grabbed his black backpack before walking away, getting hit with a cold gust of wind right when he opened the door and grabbed a thick grey scarf. He didn’t want a coat because that wasn’t the style he was going for, shivering with face buried in his scarf and hands shoved deep into the pits of his pockets as he walked fast to school. His glasses fogging up pretty bad was not a part of how he wanted his morning to go.

It all began to irritate him more until he finally made it and found himself looking around for what’s-his-name in school. He can’t believe he already forgot, a name that was so unique that John had to force himself away from it a few times yesterday. Sherlock, that was it, he was looking for Sherlock in the school.

Right when he thought he saw the back of his head in a distance he felt someone pull his glasses off his face and he quickly looked to his side to see one of the guys his friends hang around. Who, might John add, is a huge prick but he has to be nice. “What the hell?” He huffed and snatched his glasses out of his hands, the guys hair was sticking up with the amount of hair gel he had put in it and was wearing a leather jacket leaving John to wonder what his label was in this school.

“Johnny, why are you wearing sunglasses in school and especially at this time of year?” He asks with a obnoxious laugh that sounded like nails on a chalkboard to John. He immediately went into defensive mode, like a switch has been flipped on and he stood up with better posture, “Because, they were a gift. Why does it concern you?” He asked and he shrugged, “Dunno, just think it’s pretty weird.” He said and it rung like an echo in his ears.

Weird, the word kept ringing around in his head. All of a sudden all eyes were on him, staring him down, they’re all thinking it. They all notice how weird it is, what was he thinking? He’s right, even though thy protect his eyes, why would he risk wearing them to school? He froze there. Heart pounding.

Weird, weird, weird, so worried about that word. The eyes burned into his body going straight through him, they all know, they can see it written on him. Heart is pounding, pounding, pounding harder, louder. He walks away without saying anything and hurries, his feet slow for a second before they pick up the pace and soon he is running to the farther toilets in the school.

Pushing the doors and walking into one of the stalls, slamming shut. That was something that triggered it, the anger and frustration, today of all days. A Monday, he’s been doing so well with putting up with it. Why now? The anger was burning his skin, pulling off the scarf and throwing his sunglasses onto the ground. He stepped on them until he heard the loud crack ringing throughout the stall.

Stepping until it was dented beyond repair, the lens popping and crunching under his feet. He didn’t realize how tense his body was until he heard someone clear their throat and he stopped, the small voice came back and he finally heard his hard breathing, his heart still thumping hard.

It all felt like cotton was being pulled from his ears, every sound he wasn’t listening to before was now surrounding him, “I saw you run in here.” He heard the familiar voice, his foot still firmly planted on his beaten glasses.

He swallowed hard, opening his mouth and nothing came out, he heard another heavy sigh and the shifting of feet. “Are...You...Are you fine?” It was a odd way of asking but he understood that he sounded uncomfortable with saying it, like it was something foreign to him.

“Go away.” He managed, his voice cracking horribly and he kept staring down at his foot, “I don’t need your damn pity!” He shouted, “I don’t need any of it! Go away!” He was letting the words tumble out without really thinking, the words weren’t for Sherlock.

The words were for everybody else in his life that knew what he had, feeling bad for him, treating him differently for something so small. Some even talking to him slowly like his brain was so scrambled that he couldn’t even understand words like he couldn’t with color.

His vision was foggy and he blinked, hearing the light patter of the tears falling onto the floor. How pathetic, he’s crying? Like some child who fell down, but he’s been falling. Now he’s finally hit the ground hard. He never let any of this come up before, quickly he cleared his throat, regaining his posture and buried it all back down into the pit. Collecting himself and wiping off his face before he cleaned up his mess and opened the stall door. 

Pushing past Sherlock, he tossed it in the bin and held onto his scarf tightly, Sherlock just stood there and stared at him with a blank expression on his face.

“Just go to class, Sherlock.” Those words seemed to surprise him and it just confused John, “I see you remembered my name.” He commented and John was left to felt even more confused with him than before. Wasn’t he just having an episode in the stall moments ago? He didn’t care anymore, he was actually glad that he dropped the whole thing.

John couldn’t help it, he couldn’t hold it in. He just began to laugh, hard enough to make tears well up in his eyes again, his muscles hurting. It has just been an overwhelming moment for John and all it took was Sherlock to confuse him, to distract him. He could’ve sworn that through all the laughter, he saw him smiling back.

“You’re very odd aren’t you?” He asked as he shoved his hands into his pockets again and stared across at him as he calmed down, “Well, I could say the same about you.” Sherlock responded and John grew embarrassed by that, maybe even a bit flustered by his tone though he would never admit it.

“I don’t really want to talk about it so can we jus-”

“What kind?” Sherlock interrupted and John froze all over again, he felt the nervousness rise, Sherlock wasn’t like them was he? God, he hoped not. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t have to pretend you know.” He said with the same heavy sigh from earlier and John scoffed, a bit irritated with the way he was acting. John crossed his arms across his chest, “You think that you’ve got me all figured out don't you?” He snapped back.

“Well, yes, mostly.” He stepped closer and stood across from John, the bell rang and John didn’t want to talk to another prick. He couldn’t believe what was going on, this whole morning was just a mess. John turned to head out the door shaking his head.

He felt Sherlock’s hand grip his forearm roughly and he stopped where he was, everything was coming back full circle and he wasn’t going to make him forget. Sherlock’s grip loosened, “I know you’re afraid, you avoid specific conversations about and you hangout with people you don't necessarily want to be around.” It was barely a whisper but to John the words were screaming at him.

“I know you have trouble with telling truth about it in fear or out of anger that people will no longer talk to you.” He stopped to let that sink in for John, he hate to say it but he was right. He wasn’t necessarily angry about it, it just hurt knowing it all described him so closely that he was tired of doing this to himself.

John barely knew the guy but he already felt like he could tell him everything, let it all spill out like they had been friends for years. He looked back at Sherlock and could tell that he was really trying to comfort him. Through everything he was saying, it was just a different way of saying it. 

Sherlock’s expression didn’t change but it was softer than before, the late bell rang and John was no longer worried about going to his classes. He stood there, this time it was his turn to let out a heavy sigh, “Achromatopsia...I have Achromatopsia, but...Better know as Monochromacy.” He muttered and clenched his jaw, “This is the only place where I can at least have a part of me be normal.” He said with a slight smile, looking down at Sherlock’s hand that was still on him.

John didn’t know what to say about that until Sherlock cleared his throat and pulled away, “Is that what you wanted to hear?” He stared at him and felt tension growing, “Or did you already know that?” Sherlock shrugged, “It was a mere guess about fitting into school since it is a common thing amongst our age group to try and fit in. It was a guess between that or color blindness but both were likely in this case.”

John rose his eyebrows, “How old are you?” He asked with a soft smile and shook his head, “Amazing, it truly is that you can see right through me like that...Can you like...Unfocus on that or turn it off?”

“Can you turn off Monochromacy?” He asked sarcastically and started to walk off and out the door, leaving John to stand there with a wide grin on his face and laugh, “Touché.” He sighed out and gathered himself before heading out and to his own class.

On his way, he thought about everything that Sherlock had said about him. About his ‘friends’, he didn’t really share the same interests, the only thing they had in common was rugby. He didn’t want to believe what Sherlock said about them, maybe he was wrong about this.

John wanted to bring something up, that he genuinely enjoyed instead of joining just to hear his dad congratulate him and have interest in. He rocked on his feet for a second as he thought about something.

He could feel the anxiety rising in his chest as he tried to find something to do with his hands, “What do you guys think about music?” He asked hesitantly and clenched his jaw as everybody went quiet around him.

“My favorites have to come from Nirvana and Metallica, y’know?” One of them said after a few moments of silence within the group and they all became rowdy again. Talking about bands that John liked but wasn’t really into, that had to count as having something in common, right? He kept silent as he thought about a song he liked and felt that it was comfortable to say.

“I really like Elton John’s song, Your Song.” He said and he heard them all start bursting out laughing, he felt his face burn up with the heat of embarrassment.

“He’s just messing with us, Your Song? Are you going to start wearing dresses now like some girl?” One of them asked and John immediately got defensive like a bird puffing out its chest.

“Of course not! I was...I was just messing with you.” He laughed slightly and shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the ground while they all began to talk to each other again.

God, why did he have to go and say something weird like that? He should’ve just said he liked Metallica or something. He stopped while they all kept walking on without him like he wasn’t even there to begin with.

Sherlock, he was right about this. About them, they don’t understand or care for the things he likes. He took in a deep breath and lifted his head, he didn’t want to be alone, he felt like all eyes were on him now that he wasn’t part of the crowd.

John walked into class and sat down at his desk, the teacher walked around to set graded work on their desks. John looking away from them, not even paying attention.

“Hey, John. I’m surprised to see you without sunglasses today.” His teacher commented and he jolted, he forgotten that he had destroyed the, back there with Sherlock. Flustered, he rubbed the back of his neck with a slight smile, “Yeah, they broke so I have to go without the, for a bit.” 

This whole day was just...Off, worse than usual. But, in a good kind of way? He didn’t know what direction he was going in anymore. What path he was taking because he had strayed away so far from the path he was originally taking.

It was because of Sherlock, the past few days have been about him. He smiled when he thought back to when he saw him smile in the stalls with him. Maybe, following the one that was paving their own path wasn’t so bad after all.


	3. To Be Rather Than To Appear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long, don’t worry, haven’t given up yet ;^)

A whole month passed and it barely felt that long, but at the same time felt like years when he was with Sherlock. Sherlock constantly surprised him, the way he expressed things, his jokes, interests, sarcasm. He was always doing something that may have seemed odd to other students, “What is that?” John asked while they sat outside during lunch.

Sherlock doesn’t eat much, he had learned. Doesn’t much like questions either, he thought when he saw Sherlock’s eyebrows furrow with slight annoyance. “What does it look like? A journal, for now I need a journal to log everything but pretty soon I’ll be able to keep it all in my head rather than on paper.” 

John rested his head on the table, his new sunglasses shifted on his face as he stared at Sherlock with his eyebrows raised, “I know you are smart and all, but, how will you be able to keep journals worth of stuff in your brain?”

“It’s not just being able to keep all of it in my head, it’s about knowing how to find it all again when I need it and not bury it with unnecessary stuff. Like, what am I going to wear tomorrow, what to eat, who am I going to call and worrying about a significant other.” He muttered his face still buried inside his swelling journal, his hand moving fast as he filled in pages and pages of god knows what.

John just sat there and listened to him with a nod, “Well, you’re going to find somebody that you’ll worry about. I don’t think that is unnecessary at all, that is just human nature.” He shrugged and crossed his arms on the table to rest his head, “If anything, that is a necessity. They say two heads work better than one, find someone like you and I think you’ll be able to remember even more.”

He heard Sherlock’s scribbling stop, which was odd considering the fact that he had been writing in his journal throughout the school day nonstop. He lifted his head to see what was going on, only to see Sherlock staring at him. Again, his face void of anything, he could never tell what he was thinking.

“What is it?” John dragged out as he sat upright and adjusted his sunglasses on his face, Sherlock didn’t say anything as he went back to his journal and started to write again for a few minutes before it was both time for them to leave.

John didn’t question him, he was just odd in general. As he walked down the halls with Sherlock he avoided the looks he was given for hanging out with him. Even his old friend group avoided him after they’ve seen what he does with Sherlock, he was now fully considered outcasted.

It made him uncomfortable, yes. But, if it meant he got to be himself with just one other person then to hell with those ‘friends’. They were all lost themselves but with Sherlock he feels like he can figure out everything, even himself.

It was rarely ever a problem, he just had to stick his chest out and hold his head high with confidence and pride although wary of others. He just wants to fit alongside Sherlock. He looks up to him in a weird way, not in a sense of wanting to be like him but out of admiration. Wanting to have his confidence and company.

“Esse Quam Videri.” Sherlock muttered under his breath, starting John to hesitate in step, “It means to be rather than appear.” He said immediately afterward before John even had the chance to ask, he continued to just stare forward. Taking long strides with his hands in his pockets.

John let out a hum in agreement, Sherlock’s little bursts didn’t startled him like they used to but he is still getting used to them. He uses these to understand more about him, “What language?” He turned his head forward and watched all the people walk around and talk, a part of a world he’ll never be in, not willingly. 

“Latin, I can tell you don’t necessarily like being seen with me, John.” He said bluntly and this time John stopped, Sherlock continued a few more steps before he turned around to look back at him. Journal tucked under his shoulder.

“What kind of shit observation is that?” John huffed defensively and adjusted his sunglasses, he did felt a tug of guilt at his chest. A few people stopped talking and John felt their eyes on them, they were causing a scene. 

“You know what I mean, don’t act like a bloody idiot.” He stepped closer and John could sense the atmosphere change, people were watching and his heart was pounding in his chest. He was feeling fiery, something getting a hold of him on the inside and he swallowed hard as Sherlock spoke again.

“You’re weak, John. And you know it, it is rather annoying how you put on a little show for everybody like this.” He snapped and his expression was angry, he hadn’t seen Sherlock like this before. 

John felt his blood boil, feeling like steam was coming off of his body, “What the hell? Maybe it’s because I don’t want to be seen as a freak like you, alright!” He shouted and no longer cared as everything fogged over. His mind so clouded and throat clogged with things he knew he’d regret.

“Hiding yourself, pretending to be someone your not and changing yourself in front of morons is worse than just being you. You’re weak to society and are like the rest of them.” Sherlock was digging deep but John wanted to stand his ground, his fist balled up and he swung right at him.

Everything was a blur, he didn’t know what he was fighting for or how he even got here in the first place. People were watching, getting a few good swings in before Sherlock fought back.

Stumbling over as he got the wind knocked out of him, he pulled Sherlock down with him. His sunglasses falling off his face, he didn’t care if they were damaged he’d buy some new ones anyways. He felt his lip bleed and could see a bruise form underneath Sherlock’s eye.

Sherlock’s journal splayed on the ground and both of their bags somehow torn away from their bodies until a teacher came to separate them from each other. Forcing students to class while John and Sherlock went to the office.

Parents were called and they were given there stuff along with a few ice packs for their fresh bruises. John didn’t even look at Sherlock as he heard him begin to scribble away in his notebook, he just stared at his bruised knuckles and thought about what his parents would say to him.

His mind finally wandered back to what Sherlock said and he knew it was his fault, Sherlock’s good at hiding what he is feeling but the outburst showed how he was feeling. Outcasted. His mind void of the physical pain but now it was emotional, he hated the guilt because he knew it was his fault for the outburst and his fault for the fight.

He rubbed at his knuckles and felt the sting, licking over his busted lip and took a deep breath as felt everything connect together. Piece themselves for him to understand the situation fully, “Sherlock?” He felt the words tumble out, like he hadn’t said the name in years.

Sherlock didn’t respond or stop writing in his journal, not even a slight shift, John understood why he was acting colder to him, it was like it would immediately change his mind anyway. John shifted and looked over at him, setting the pack of ice in his lap, “I’m sorry, for...Doing that to you.” He watched Sherlock immediately stop and close his journal as he got up to grab his bag.

“Don’t be, it was merely a test to see how you would work with confrontation.” He said quickly and shoved his journal in his bag, John watched Sherlock seeing a small change in him, “Well, I think there was some truth to your test Sherlock.” He mumbled quietly as Sherlock got up to head out the door, “I am sorry for acting the way I did with my…‘friends’. I’m sorry for annoying you in that way.” 

“Apology accepted.” Sherlock said after a moment but didn’t turn to face John, his eyes still on the door as he walked out with the door creaking behind him and snapped shut. John knew that change, it reminded him of his dad when he was upset or angry. He never really chose to show it but was able to tell when his father was like that, he could see the same thing in Sherlock.

John knows his little apology was it going to get him anywhere, he needs to do something more to show just how sincere he is. He wants Sherlock to forgive him, to truly forgive him. But, at the same time. John doesn’t know how bad he had ruined this, not just for himself but for Sherlock to open up more to people.

He knew this was bigger than just a small apology in the office with a few packs of ice, he heard the door freak open, snapping away from his clouded mind and stood up immediately. Hoping it was Sherlock coming back, chest tightening as he was about to blurt out another apology. It was his father, mouth twitched in response to seeing his father in front of the door.

His eyes averted away from him as he clutched at the ice pack in hand, “Do you have any idea how worried you made your mother when she heard you got into a fight?” His father’s gruff voice was all too familiar when he got into trouble, when he almost quit the team.

“Don’t you understand this will go on your record? They’ll suspend you from rugby.” John finally heard the truth as to why his father was really upset and he felt the lump in his throat grow. The anger rose back up and he grabbed his things as he walked passed him, he didn’t realize he didn’t have his sunglasses until he went outside. 

He could tell that his dad was yelling back for him, he just wanted to head home without his dad talking about stupid rugby games. That’s all his father really cared about anyways, he didn’t really care if he failed a test, but because he was in rugby everything had to revolve around it.

It wasn’t him, none of this and yet all of it was, Sherlock was the only one that really knew him and John was the only one that could understand Sherlock. Now John felt like he was on his own, going an entirely different direction than following Sherlock, following what his parents had planned for him. Grey was what he was used to following but now he feels completely blind.

Blind to the world around him and to himself, he picked up the pace as he neared his house, the bruise on his chest thumped in pain along with another unfamiliar pain in his chest. The intensity of it all was too much, this emotion, he was tired of seeing himself as shades of grey.

He was tired of wishing to be something he wasn’t, he stopped at the door, breathing hard and heavy. His lungs stung and he could tell he pulled a muscle when his chest hesitated to rise and fall. 

He opened the door, everything hazier than before, his mother at the dinner table by herself. Looking over and seeing the bruises, dried blood and sweat all over John, she rose in concern and walked over to him. He clutched at the strap of his bag, he pulled her into a hug. No matter how much it hurt him physically, he held onto her tight, feeling like he was five.

John finally began to shake as he pressed his face into her and she hugged back, he forced himself to keep in the tear no matter how blurry his vision got. He choked on words he wanted to let out so he stayed silent.

It had been a while since he felt like this, since he felt so vulnerable. This was probably a lesson of some sort but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it until he remembered what Sherlock had said to him, Esse Quam Videri.


End file.
